Blue Paint and Black Bruises
by Tri Lorian
Summary: Lancelot 'accepts' a bet, and he goes on patrol with Tristan. Arthur has to deal with the consequences. This is the story of what happened the day that Lancelot stole the blue paint supply of the Woads, as mentioned in 'Hide and Seek'. {Complete}


Arthur could see how a smile was creeping onto Lancelot's face as he listened to the conversation between Bors and Galahad, who were riding right behind them. They had been riding only slowly all day as they were escorting a group of villagers to the next village, and the Sarmatian knights were getting bored with doing nothing. Mischief and bantering had ensued. Arthur felt himself relaxing as the mood of his knights got a hold on him as well.

"So, tell me about the blue paint theft?"

Lancelot turned his head towards Arthur with a stoic expression on his face, but the smile in the brown eyes betrayed him. "You are not going to let this rest until I tell you, are you?" he questioned his best friend and commander.

Arthur rose his eyebrows as an answer.

"Okay…" Lancelot shook his head in amusement. "It happened nearly two years ago..."

Arthur interrupted him immediately, a bewildered look on his face. "What do you mean? You claimed 'juvenile recklessness'! I gathered this happened years and years ago!"

"I finally grew up, didn't I?" Lancelot smirked.

"I wish!" Arthur grinned.

"Do you want to know what happened, or not?" Lancelot asked in mock exasperation.

Arthur made a gesture with his hand, indicating the younger man to continue.

Lancelot took a second to gather his thoughts before he continued. "We had assembled at the training field and I was partnered with Gawain…"

_Lancelot lifted his twin swords, wooden ones for practice, above his head and twirled around before he brought them down again, slashing fiercely into Gawain's protective chest armour. The blond knight stumbled backwards, but managed to regain his footing before Lancelot attacked once more._

_Gawain had noticed that morning already when he arrived at the practice field that Lancelot was in a foul mood. The brooding look on his face never left, and he had defeated all of his practice partners within minutes, although the purpose of practice training was to practice, not to win a non-existing duel._

_Gawain had seen Lancelot in similar moods before and no one, not even Arthur, would be able to calm him down, before he had blown off steam. Gawain had been practicing with Galahad at first, but with a curt nod at Lancelot, he had instructed Galahad to find Arthur, and had rescued the young knight-to-be that had had the misfortune of sparring with Lancelot that morning._

_Gawain braced himself once more as he saw how Lancelot with a swift move pushed his left blade forwards, surprising Gawain, who responded by going to his right side, where he immediately was hit by Lancelot's right sword. The dark knight crossed his blades and effectively unarmed Gawain._

"_Gods! What has crawled up your ass this morning? Do I look like a Woad to you?" Gawain screamed at his fellow knight. "Safe your anger for the Woads, Lancelot! Our enemies, remember? I fight at the same side as you do!"_

_Gawain almost felt like he was being burned by the raging fire in Lancelot's eyes as the dark haired man met his gaze._

"_You only lack the blue paint! Other than that, you look as wild as they do!" Lancelot spat out. He threw his wooden swords on the ground, and strode off the practice field._

"By the evening, I'd calmed down and apologized to Gawain, and we all went to the tavern to get drunk. Really drunk, I mean," Lancelot continued, as Arthur listened attentively. A grin was plastered on the Sarmatian's face at the memory.

"_Galahad! My boy! Go get us some more beers!" Bors enthusiastically wrapped his arm around the young knight's shoulder. "Lancelot! Throw those dice again! I'm on a winning streak here!" He sat down heavily at the table once more, opposite of Lancelot, swaying in his chair in obvious drunkenness although his voice sounded almost sober still._

"_Wher're the 'ice? Who took the 'ice?" Lancelot slurred. The curly haired Sarmatian was well known to hold his liquor well, but even he had drunk past his limits this evening._

"_In your hand, Lanceyboy!" Bors exclaimed loudly. Laughter erupted all around._

_Lancelot didn't seem fazed by his mistake. "Twelve!" he shouted while he threw the two dice on the table._

"_Tripl' four! That m'kes twelve!" Lancelot's ability to add up numbers even while drunk might have been astonishing but no one around him cared about such trivialities right now._

_Another round of laughter exploded. "Eight! Double four! Maybe it's time we take you to your bed!" Gawain grinned._

_Lancelot pounded with his fist on the table. "We'll play two out'f three! Role, Bors!"_

"_What are the stakes?" Galahad interrupted as he returned holding four jars of ale._

_For a moment Bors looked at Lancelot, Gawain at Dagonet, before they shrugged their shoulders almost simultaneously._

"_Borsy gets t'groom m'horse for a fortnight!" Lancelot offered._

_Bors grinned at the dark knight like a madman. "Or you get to groom mine! Better get ready for it, Lancey! Five!"_

_The dice rolled over the table. Two and three dots were on top when they stopped._

_Dagonet clapped Bors on his shoulder in congratulations._

_Lancelot plunged his knife into the table, precariously close to Bors' hand that reached for the dice. "Three out'f five!" he slurred._

_Gawain gently pried Lancelot's fingers off the knife and pulled it out of the table, sheathing it himself to ensure that the drunk knight would not cause any bodily harm to his brothers-in-arms. "Three out of five it is, and then we're taking you to your quarters!" The blond knight, not entirely sober either, sounded like he was talking to a petulant child._

_Lancelot didn't take offense, underlining his state of mind._

"_We've got to raise the stakes for a fiver!" Bors spoke up loudly, while swinging another jar of ale through the air._

"_Th'one who loses has t'somehow 'borrow' the Woads' blue paint so we can transform Gawain int'a true Woad warrior at our next sparrin' session!" Lancelot proposed._

"Bors accepted the bet and won at the next roll," Lancelot explained to Arthur, who had a big smile on his face as well. "So I went and stole the paint," he finished quickly, trying to get out of telling the Roman the rest of the story.

"But when? How did you do that without me knowing it? Did you sneak out of the fortress?" Arthur asked confused.

Lancelot sighed dramatically. "You sent me on patrol. With Tristan." The Sarmatian paused until his words had sunk in. He didn't have to wait long.

"That time when Tristan brought you back unconscious, while he had taken an arrow in his arm himself?" Memories of that disastrous day flooded back to Arthur. He had sent them out on what should have been an easy patrol from the wall to the woods just north of the fortress. The result had been two severely injured knights and no information. "I thought your horse threw you off?" Arthur's voice was filled with bewilderment.

"It did…" Lancelot confirmed.

_Lancelot rode alongside Tristan, keeping a watchful eye on the woods they were approaching. The ride through the open fields away from the wall had gone without any incidents, as expected, but the woods were always a treacherous place to be near or to pass. Tristan sat straight on his horse, aware of all sounds coming from all wind directions._

_They moved closer to the woods when Tristan suddenly signaled to Lancelot to rein his stallion in to a slow step._

"_What?" the dark Sarmatian mouthed to the scout._

"_Woads," came Tristan's non-committal answer._

_Lancelot looked at the older knight with annoyance. "Where?" he tried again._

"_In the woods," Tristan nodded. "Only five or six, I think…" He pointed towards the ground. The mud was still wet from the rainfall the day before, and footsteps, both animal and human, were easily distinguishable._

_Tristan slid off his horse, and Lancelot followed his example. They left the horses behind, and they crept into the forest. The densely packed trees made it easy for the two Sarmatians to approach the small encampment of the Woads._

"_These are not the Woads that Arthur meant. He was talking about a big group," Lancelot whispered._

_The scout nodded in agreement. "I think this is a scouting party."_

"_We should leave, and continue then," Lancelot said. He intended to get up and turn back, when he suddenly became aware of how Tristan was looking at him. The scout had half a grin on his face as he watched the curly haired man intensely._

_"What?" Lancelot asked once more, sounding irritated and undignified at being stared at for no apparent reason._

"_This is a great opportunity for you to bring back some of that blue paint you promised Bors…"_

_Lancelot wasn't sure how to describe the tone in Tristan's voice. Amused, challenging, both. He groaned softly. "I was drunk! I didn't know what I was saying!"_

"_No one forced you to drink so much," Tristan chuckled lightly._

Arthur interrupted before Lancelot could continue. "Tristan challenged you to do so? Have you all gone insane?"

"He covered me," Lancelot chuckled.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

_Lancelot moved forwards slowly, careful not to step on any branches or leaves. The wet mud between the trees absorbed any sounds of his boots. He had moved around the small campsite without any problems, but now he would have to approach the camp to reach the place where the supplies had been unloaded. Tristan had pointed it out to him. Lancelot looked up, trying to see if he could spot Tristan at the opposite end of the campsite. The scout had his bow ready to create any kind of distraction if the Woads would notice Lancelot. The dark Sarmatian could hardly see far enough through the trees to notice the Woads that were talking and eating quietly, unaware of the two knights close by._

_Lancelot waited for a minute to watch the Woads, to see if any one of them in particular was on guard. He had to conclude than none was. They must feel safe here, Lancelot thought. He was only six steps away from coming out of the safety of the trees and stepping into the small clearing that formed the campsite. He started to move forwards slowly again, until he reached the last tree that kept him out of sight. He surveyed the camp again. When he was certain that the Woads had still not been alerted to his presence, he took a minute to scan the supplies that were lying close to him. Only a few of the items looked like they could contain the blue paint he was looking for._

_Taking a deep breath, he came out from between the trees. With cat-like movements he went forwards and within a few steps he reached the supplies. He hunched down behind something he couldn't identify but which at least gave some cover. He reached out his hand to grab a bag which seemed to contain all kinds of small flasks and jars. He looked inside quickly before placing it back._

_In the corner of his eyes he saw how one of the Woads suddenly stood up and Lancelot froze in place. He exhaled with relief when the man sat down again after retrieving more food from the fire. Lancelot carefully moved forwards a bit more to look into a small box. A grin set on his face as he saw what was inside – a beautifully shaped jar filled with blue paint. He lifted it up, surprised by the heaviness of the small box. As slowly as he made his way to the supplies, Lancelot retreated his steps and slipped back into the forest unseen to rejoin Tristan._

_Tristan was waiting for him already, having seen all of Lancelot's movements while in the camp. He hung his bow over his shoulder and signaled to Lancelot to follow him. Together they moved away from the encampment without speaking. Tristan threw a grin at the dark Sarmatian when they reached their horses, and Lancelot smirked in response._

"So you got out of there unharmed? But the two of you said that you were attacked by Woads?" Arthur sounded more bedazzled by the minute.

"We were. Different Woads. They were everywhere that day."

_Tristan and Lancelot had ridden alongside the edge of the woods for more than an hour already without finding any more evidence of Woad activity. "We'll go further for another half an hour, and then we'll return to the wall. Arthur's Woads might as well be ghosts," Lancelot decided._

_The words had no sooner left Lancelot's lips or Tristan grabbed for his bow while yelling, "Watch out! Woads!"_

_Lancelot immediately looked around, pulling an arrow out of the quiver hanging in front of his saddle, while reaching with his other hand for the bow behind his saddle. He saw the arrows flying through the air even before he spotted the two Woads between the tree line. He immediately realized that the arrows were aimed at him. Dropping the arrow in his hand, he grabbed the reins of his black stallion and pulled him to the side in an attempt to avoid the arrows. One arrow missed him by a hair, the other lodged itself in his horse's shoulder. Already unbalanced by Lancelot's abrupt move, the horse went down squealing, throwing the dark knight off._

_Tristan nocked another set of two arrows on his bow as he watched how his first arrows pierced one of the Woad warriors through his heart and shoulder. The man collapsed to the ground without a word._

_Tristan fired his arrows just a fraction before the arrow fired by the second of the Woads lodged itself in his upper arm. The scout screamed in pain as he watched how his own arrows hit their marks. The remaining Woad went down with a scream as he was struck in his neck and eye._

_For a moment Tristan waited to see whether any other Woads would appear between the trees, but when none came, he grabbed the arrow in his arm and pulled it out. He could feel the warm blood flowing down his arm while the pain made him dizzy. Tristan had seen at the edge of his vision that Lancelot's horse had taken an arrow and thrown off his rider, but only now became the scout aware of the unmoving body of the dark Sarmatian lying next to his horse, which had clambered to its feet again._

"_Lancelot!" His heart skipping a beat, Tristan jumped off his horse while holding his arm, and knelt down next to Lancelot. The younger knight was lying half on his side, half on his back, his eyes closed, his face ashen white."Lancelot!"_

_Relieved he established that Lancelot was still breathing, although only shallowly. Gently, avoiding to use his right arm, Tristan turned Lancelot completely on his back so he could assess his injuries. He immediately noticed the blood already pooled beneath Lancelot's head. More blood was flowing through the dark curls to join the pool on the ground, colouring the sand and stones of the path they had been riding on. The left side of Lancelot's face on his cheek and temple was already turning black and blue with bruises._

_Tristan cursed out loud. He pushed himself to a standing position and yanked his saddle bag from his horse. It landed with a heavy thud at his feet. Using only his left arm, he found the bandages inside. He could feel how he was weakening already with blood loss. Wrapping the bandages tightly around his right arm, he hoped that it would be enough to stop the bleeding. He knew he had to get Lancelot back to the fortress soon and he would only manage that if he kept himself on his feet._

_Dragging the saddle bag behind him, Tristan knelt down next to Lancelot again. The scout placed his hand on the other man's face and gently tapped his unbruised cheek. "Lancelot? Lancelot? Can you hear me? You have to wake up!" The scout continued for a little longer, but it became clear to Tristan soon that the dark knight was not about to regain consciousness. He didn't want to lose anymore precious time so he refrained from cleaning Lancelot's head wound. The healers at the fortress would have to take care of that. He would not be able to sew the wound close with one arm anyway, Tristan knew._

_Once more Tristan struggled to rise to his feet. He walked over to Lancelot's horse and threw his saddle bag over the saddle on its back. Then he grabbed the reins and pulled them over the stallion's head. He tied them to the back of his own horse's saddle. Slowly he pulled his grey mare close to where Lancelot was lying still._

_Tristan knelt down at Lancelot's side for the third time and using only his good arm, pulled the dark knight up into a sitting position while he moved behind him. The scout had to catch his breath before he wrapped his arm around Lancelot and pulled both of them to their feet. Lancelot hung boneless and heavy against him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Tristan grabbed his saddle with his injured arm and pulled himself into the saddle, dragging Lancelot up with him. Thankfully Lancelot was the least heavy of his fellow knights, Tristan thought. With another surge of determination, the scout pulled Lancelot up onto his horse completely, sitting him in front of him. Lancelot's head rested limply on his shoulder, and Tristan could feel how a warm liquid seeped through his clothing. Needing his left arm to keep Lancelot in the saddle in front of him, Tristan had no choice but to use his painful right arm to hold the reins. He quickly kicked his mare in her flanks and set off in a full gallop._

_The Roman guards at the gates of the fortress immediately alerted Arthur and his knights to the return of Tristan and Lancelot._

_Arthur watched in horror as he saw how Tristan held an unconscious Lancelot close to his body, blood covering the entire left side of Lancelot's neck, bruises blackening his swollen and pale face._

"_What happened?" Arthur asked urgently as he gently lowered Lancelot off Tristan's horse and to the ground.._

"_Woads. Attack."_

_Only when he heard Tristan's weak voice and strained words did the commander realize that his scout was injured as well. "Dagonet!" he yelled as he saw how Tristan's eyes rolled to the back of his head. Dagonet was just in time to catch the scout before he tumbled to the ground._

_Two hours later Flavius, the old Roman healer with the grey hair came to talk with Arthur and the rest of the Sarmatian knights in the main hall where they had been waiting._

_Arthur stood as soon as he saw the old man entering._

"_Tristan has woken up again. He was hit in his arm by an arrow, but he tied it off himself very well. The exertion of the travel back hurt him more than the blood loss, I suspect. He is going to need rest for at least a week, and it might take some time before he can use his arm properly again, but he will be alright."_

_A collective sigh of relief echoed through the huge room._

"_Lancelot?" Arthur asked with trepidation tangible in his voice._

_Flavius sighed deeply. "He is still unconscious. Tristan told me that his horse was hit by an arrow as well and threw Lancelot off. He hit his head on the ground pretty hard. There's extensive bruising on the back and side of his head, and a huge gash that I stitched together. It bled freely but I don't think he lost that much blood. The blow to his head is of more concern. We'll have to wait until he wakes up before I can say more..."_

_Arthur had been sitting at Lancelot's bedside for several hours already, darkness had overtaken the day, before Lancelot started showing signs of waking up. The Roman immediately moved to sit on the bed._

"_Lancelot?" he asked in a quiet voice._

_His question was answered by a deep groan of pain._

"_Lancelot? Can you hear me?" Arthur tried again._

"_Yes…" came the soft reply._

"_Can you open your eyes?" Arthur prodded, his heart jumping in his chest with relief._

_Slowly Lancelot's eyes fluttered open. He had to suppress the urge to close them again immediately as bolts of pain danced through his head rhythmically. He gasped in agony, holding his breath._

_Arthur watched and waited until he could see that the pain became more tolerable._

"_What happened?" Lancelot asked through clenched teeth, trying not to scream out in pain. Someone seemed to be pounding his skull both from the inside as on the outside._

"_You and Tristan were attacked by Woads. Apparently, your horse threw you off and you landed on your head." Arthur explained._

"_Not a good idea…" Lancelot moaned in pain with every breath._

"_No, not really," Arthur agreed with the Sarmatian. "Are you in a lot of pain?"_

"_That would be the understatement of the century…" Lancelot answered without any smugness detectable in his voice. "How is Tristan?"_

"_He'll be fine. He took an arrow in his arm, but he'll be fine in a couple of days," Arthur answered. He shook his head when he saw the worried look crossing Lancelot's pale features. "Nothing for you to worry about. You should worry about yourself. You were out for a long time."_

"_How long?"_

"_Tristan said you were attacked late in the morning and it's close to midnight now. You were out for half a day." Concern was thick in Arthur's voice._

"_Gods…" Lancelot closed his eyes as he took in Arthur's words. His head was throbbing painfully and unrelenting, his stomach rolling in sync. "I think I'm going to be sick…" he warned Arthur._

_The Roman turned towards the table on which Flavius had left a clean bowl with the warning that Lancelot would most likely wake up with a terrible headache and matching nausea. When he turned back to the bed, he saw how the Sarmatian knight had passed out again._

"I don't remember a whole lot about the days after," Lancelot stated pensively.

"I do." Arthur replied as the memories of those days played in his mind. Lancelot's injuries had been even more serious than Flavius had assessed at first, surpassing the headache and nausea. He had spent days worrying greatly as the knight had gone through lucid and delirious episodes alternately.

_Arthur was seated on the window sill, watching the first sunlight of the day appear above the wall as well as Lancelot who had remained asleep all night. Flavius had assured him that Lancelot would be fine alone, so the Roman had gone to his own rooms, but sleep had eluded him. He had returned to Lancelot's side hours before sunrise already._

_He saw Lancelot moving before he heard him moaning in pain and quickly jumped off the window sill. He watched how the Sarmatian opened his eyes while he sat down on the bed. "Good morning." Arthur kept his voice low out of consideration of Lancelot's headache._

_The Roman commander watched in surprise as Lancelot's eyes opened wide and fear settled in the brown orbs._

"_Lancelot, what's wrong?" Arthur placed his hand on the dark knight's shoulder to soothe him._

_Lancelot responded to the touch like he had been bitten. He threw up his arm and nearly pushed Arthur off the bed. His eyes were spitting fire. "Get away from me!" he yelled in a shaky voice._

_Arthur jumped off the bed and backed away, not wanting to upset the Sarmatian any further. "Lancelot? It's me, Arthur!" he said with emphasis. Unease came over him when Lancelot showed no recognition at his name._

"_No! Get away!" Lancelot tried to sit up but the pain in his head overwhelmed him and he fell back down on the bed._

_Arthur immediately moved forwards towards the bed to restrain Lancelot. He knew the dark haired man should not be moving around so much so soon after the blow to his head. "Lancelot! Lie down! You have to stay calm, my friend!"_

"_Friend? You are no friend of mine, Roman! If you were my friend, you wouldn't have taken me from my home!" All of a sudden Lancelot burst out in tears completely. "My mother, I want my mother…" he managed to choke out while his frame shook with his sobs._

_Arthur stood in horror and shock. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He realized that Lancelot had no idea what he was saying, but to see the man he loved like a brother crying so brokenheartedly was unnerving. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and stepped forwards to the bed once more to console the knight._

_Again, Lancelot almost jumped to his throat. This time the Sarmatian managed to move his legs off the bed before the pain overwhelmed him. Arthur was able to catch him just in time as he succumbed to darkness and slid off the bed to the ground._

_As gently as possible Arthur lifted Lancelot back on to the bed, covering him up with the blankets. Knowing he should get the healer, he took a second to kneel down next to the bed and addressed his God to take care of his second in command and closest friend. Gracefully, he rose to his feet and ran out the door to look for Flavius._

_Several hours later Lancelot had awoken again. Arthur hadn't left his side, but it was with fear in his heart that he watched as the Sarmatian's eyelids fluttered open. Lancelot's gaze met with Arthur's, and the Roman noted the pain and fatigue in the dull eyes. "Lancelot?" he whispered quietly._

"_Arthur."_

_The nervous fluttering of his stomach settled down as Arthur heard his own name rolling from Lancelot's lips. "I'm here. How are you feeling?"_

"_Like I was thrown from my horse and landed on my head?" Lancelot answered cheekily._

"_Not a good idea," Arthur answered in jest, relief unhidden in his voice._

_Lancelot's lips briefly curled into a smile, before the lines of pain reappeared on his brow._

"_How are you feeling?" Arthur asked again. "Seriously…"_

"_Not very well," Lancelot replied honestly. "It feels like someone is trying to crush my head under a large brick wall."_

"_That bad… Is there anything I can do?" Arthur answered sympathetically._

_Lancelot started to shake his head, but instantly stopped his movement when every nerve ending in his brain protested. He gasped in pain and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He swallowed heavily. "Gods…"_

"_Maybe you should try to get back to sleep. Then at least you won't have to endure the pain," Arthur suggested, watching his pale friend with great concern._

_It only took minutes before Lancelot slipped back to sleep. Arthur watched him sleeping for a long time, taking in the angry black bruises that covered the left side of his face, the paleness of his face making them stand out even more. The Roman allowed his heart to calm down as Lancelot seemed to be recovering, having recognized his own commander._

_The third time that Lancelot woke up was in the middle of the next night following the day. Arthur was dozing on the make shift bed that Flavius had kindly supplied when he heard how Lancelot started to move underneath his fur blankets. He sat up slowly as not to startle the Sarmatian. When he rose to his feet he saw how Lancelot was looking around the room, his eyes in slits, his forehead creased in pain._

_As soon as Lancelot became aware of the person next to his bed, his eyes opened completely. Pain shone in them, as well as confusion and fear. "Who are you?" he whispered with a crooked voice._

"_Lancelot?" Arthur felt the fear gripping his heart once again._

"_No! I am Lancelot! Who are **you**?" the Sarmatian knight asked with urgency._

"_Arthur. I'm Arthur. Your friend. Your commander…" Arthur tried to remain calm, but he had to admit to himself that he was scared. Scared for his friend. Scared to lose him._

"_Artorius?" Lancelot sounded confused._

"_Yes! Lancelot, what's wrong?" Arthur felt a sparkle of hope ignite._

"_No! You're lying. Arthur is my age! At least ten years younger than you are! Who are you?" Lancelot sounded more and more distressed with every question he was firing at the Roman._

_Arthur took a deep breath before he spoke again. He choose to ignore Lancelot's questions, knowing that he would never have a satisfactory answer to them. "Lancelot, how are you feeling? Does your head hurt very badly?"_

_Momentarily Lancelot seemed to forget his questions regarding the identity of the man standing at his bedside. He brought up a hand to his face and pressed it to his temple, closing his eyes, his pallor turning even more ghostly. "Yes…" he groaned. His eyes snapped open. "Did I get beaten by one of the others?" Not only physical pain was now visible in his eyes, but also hurt pride._

"_No, no. You fell off your horse," Arthur tried to placate the upset knight. He sat down on the bed, uncertain of how to address the man before him, like his injured second in command, or like the juvenile knight-to-be he thought he was. "Why don't you go back to sleep?" he suggested once more. "Sleep until the pain subsides…" And until these delusional periods have passed, he added to himself and prayed to his God._

_Lancelot looked at him for a moment, and then slowly allowed his eyelids to slip closed._

_Arthur took in a shuddering breath. The confrontation with Lancelot's delirium had shocked him to his core. After the first episode Flavius had told him that it might occur more often before the Sarmatian would start to recover, but it had not prepared him for what had just happened. He sat down heavily on the chair next to the bed, burying his head in his hands, waiting for Lancelot to wake up again, anxious to see his friend return._

_The Roman commander had to wait almost an entire day before Lancelot regained consciousness again. A low moan alerted him that the Sarmatian was rising to the surface of awareness once more. He watched closely as Lancelot opened his eyes, immediately looking for a sliver of recognition. He sighed in relief as he heard Lancelot stammer his name._

"_Arthur…"_

"_Right here!" Arthur quickly answered, placing his hand on Lancelot's hand. "Lancelot?"_

_Lancelot blinked his eyes several times to clear his hazy vision. The pain in his head was agonizing but he was able to think clearly. "Gods…! Send someone else on patrol next time, please!" he groaned in pain._

_Arthur chuckled lightly at the dark knight's words, both out of amusement as well as of relief. "Don't worry, you're not going anywhere anytime soon anyway…"_

_Lancelot blinked again, and turned his head to face Arthur. "What?" he asked in a bewildered tone of voice. "Too many any's…" He groaned at his own words._

"_Are you alright?" Arthur asked, turning serious._

_Lancelot closed his eyes while he brought both hands to his head. He touched the bandage that was covering the back of his head. He sighed before he reopened his eyes. "Why doesn't my head just explode and get it over with!"_

_Arthur gently squeezed the hand beneath his own. "I'll find Flavius and see if he can give you something for the pain. I'll be right back. Try to get some sleep."_

_Lancelot had drifted in and out of consciousness for another three days, while Arthur stayed with him all the time. The Roman had thanked his God that no more delusional episodes had occurred, though he wished that Lancelot hadn't had to go through such an amount of pain either._

_Five days after Tristan had brought Lancelot back to the fortress, Flavius told Arthur to take Lancelot to his own quarters as the knight had become restless and irritated._

_Arthur felt it was too soon to leave Lancelot on his own as his headaches were still very severe, so he had asked Gawain to watch over the dark Sarmatian while he handled business with the Roman centurions._

_Gawain was alerted by a heavy sigh from the bed that Lancelot had woken up. When he looked up, he saw how Lancelot licked his lips, his brow furrowed against the pain. "Do you want some water?" he asked quietly._

_Lancelot looked up in surprise at Gawain's voice. "Please," he answered with a hardly perceivable nod._

_Gawain helped Lancelot sit up and handed him a goblet filled with water. He observed Lancelot closely to help his fellow knight the moment he threatened to falter. When he was certain that the other man was doing alright, he spoke up with the ghost of a grin around his mouth. "It seems you lost the bet twice now…" He left his words lingering in the air._

_Lancelot looked up in surprise at Gawain for the second time. The sudden movement jolted his head and he gingerly lowered himself to lie back down on the bed. He exhaled audibly before he answered. "Did Tristan tell you that?" Confusion and surprise were entangled in his voice._

"_Tristan told us that you went into the Woad camp, but since you failed to bring any paint back with you, we assumed that you did not manage to find it…" The blond Sarmatian looked at Lancelot thoughtfully as he saw an array of emotions cross his face. "You did find it…?" Now it was Gawain's turn to sound confused._

_A hint of a smirk appeared on Lancelot's face. "Do you know where three huge chestnut trees surrounded by bushes seem to stand just separate from the rest of the woods?" He continued when he saw Gawain nodding briefly. "We left it there to pick it up on our way back. We still had to continue to check down the woods further, and the thing was quite heavy to carry all the time." Lancelot suddenly yawned passionately. "We'll have to find… it… later…" He fell asleep as soon as the last word left his lips._

"Galahad and Gawain went to check when you sent them on another patrol to get the information you originally had sent me and Tristan after. They found it and brought it back with them to the fortress," Lancelot ended his story.

"What happened with the paint?" Arthur asked curiously.

Lancelot laughed mischievously. "Since you wouldn't let me go outside of the fortress for two weeks afterwards, I helped Bors to redecorate the tavern for Vanora. You commented on it yourself, how much you liked the new paint. Blue paint!"


End file.
